


Nothing You Know

by ever_enthralled



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Punk, Anarchy, Bar Room Brawl, Blood and Injury, Erwin is basically a golden retriever, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Goth Levi Ackerman, Nile is a surly fucker, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overdosing, Rebellion, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, She/Her Pronouns for Hange Zoë, She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for Hange Zoë, Slow Burn, but not really, i'm gonna do my best, set in the 80s even though author is a 90s baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_enthralled/pseuds/ever_enthralled
Summary: You've been living in a new city for over a year now, twenty years old but still stuck at home with your dad, stepmom, and bratty stepbrother. You want to get out from under your parents and explore, every stifling 'no' from your father's mouth only making you crave the freedom more.You finally get a taste of it when you sneak out to attend a punk show—go big or go home, right? There, you meet Nile, Mike, and Erwin, three young men seemingly made up entirely of studs and patches.Under their guidance, you join the world of punk rock and anarchy which is everything you wanted and more.
Relationships: Nile Dok/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Nothing You Know

You meet him at a show, standing outside despite the cold, chain-smoking cigarettes with who you assume to be his friends. They are an amalgamation of leather, plaid, gel, and hairspray, and you're immediately curious.

You've seen the type before, have little experience with them but still find yourself admiring from afar. Such a blatant display of rebellion against social norms never fails to bring a smile to your face, so you don't bother trying to stop or talk yourself out of sauntering on over with your own unlit cigarette.

You stop a couple feet away, gain the attention of one member of the trio—a tall fucker, made even taller by the bright blue liberty spikes sticking a couple inches out from his scalp in various directions. He nods toward you, makes the other two turn to stare, and you lick your lips nervously before asking, "Any of you got a lighter?"

The guy in the middle is the first to move, showing a surprisingly friendly smile before reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a metal zippo. He steps forward as you stick the cigarette in your mouth then holds an open flame to one end while you puff on the other. Your hand is shaking slightly at your lips, the bitter chill cutting straight through your leggings and denim vest, and it doesn’t escape the notice of the man before you.

“Wanna join the huddle while you smoke?” He asks. “Mike an' I might be able to block some of the wind for you.”

His voice is full and mature, not at all what you were expecting. Everything about his appearance is off-putting to the casual citizen, pants too tight and acid-splashed, tucked into combat boots that climb up toward his knees. His jacket is covered in offensive patches— _No Gods, No Masters, Reality is Reason to Panic, Nazi Punks Fuck Off_ —and his blond mohawk is quite a bit taller than his friend’s spikes.

Still, his ocean eyes are extremely kind, the opposite of everything you’ve heard, so you nod and thank him, extending the sentiment to the other two as they crowd in closer.

It’s February and _freezing_. You should have known better than to leave the house in what you’re wearing, but one, you were eager to try the new look, and two, you found yourself in a rush to leave when your father arrived home from work earlier than expected. If he saw you like this, you don’t know what—

No, scratch that, you do know what he’d say. Exactly what he'd say.

_“What’s all that shit on your face?”_

_“Those were perfectly good tights! How’d you rip them?”_

_“You about to go stand on a corner downtown?”_

Ridiculous. He has no idea that in his attempt to discourage you from dressing and acting a certain way, it’s only made you want to do it more.

Once you think you can speak again without your teeth chattering, you introduce yourself and thank the trio of guys one more time.

“It’s really no problem,” the blond says before stating, “I’m Erwin.”

Liberty spikes speaks next, a simple, “Mike,” but paired with a head nod and lopsided smile. His shirt is full of holes and the pants he’s wearing are of two different patterns, split right down the middle, with chains hanging from his belt-loops. He’s in Chucks rather than boots, scuffed and torn to hell, yet somehow still on his massive feet.

The third guy doesn’t say anything until you actually make eye contact with him, eyes the shade of coffee grounds flashing before he looks away and mumbles, “Nile,” as his leather-clad shoulders shake with a shiver from the breeze that picks up right then. Even though he’s the smallest of the group, shorter and not quite as broad as his counterparts, he’s somehow the most intimidating.

He’s also the hottest for some reason.

_It’s his face,_ you think. Yeah, Erwin has the bone structure of a Greek god, but Nile is all angles. His jaw is cut, nose long and narrow, and fuck, his cheekbones could slice you open. Though shaved on the sides, his dark hair is down, a thick mohawk free of product, and you think if you knew him better, you’d like to run your fingers through it. There are studs on his shoulders as well as on the belt that’s holding up his torn, black jeans. A faded _Bad Religion_ shirt leaves the only pop of color on his person as the yellow of his laces, untied and loose over the tongues of Doc Martens. 

“Haven’t seen you around before,” Mike says. Fast, heavy music begins pouring from the tiny venue as another band starts playing, ringing louder as a few people decide to head inside to watch. 

“Probably ‘cause I’ve never been here before,” you tell him. “You guys hang out here every night or something?” 

Nile snorts, grunts out a bemused, “Basically,” as he fishes a nearly crushed pack of Marlboro reds from one of his pockets. 

“Not every night,” Mike corrects with a chuckle. “But there’s not much else to do in this shitty city, so…” 

“That’s fair.” As if you know. As if you’ve explored the ins and outs of this town. In truth, you’ve lived a pretty boring life, both before and after the move. Not sheltered necessarily— _you’ve had experiences, okay_ —but you have a strong feeling these guys have seen and done much, much more. 

“Yeah, sadly Garrison’s is about the only place worth spending time these days and even then—” Erwin pauses to cringe, and it gives everyone a chance to get another earful of the band. Apparently unimpressed, the blond finishes, “It’s been going downhill the last few months.” 

“Did you come here to see anyone in particular?” You’re interested in the headlining act yourself, but you don’t want to say so lest you earn that same unimpressed stare from all three of them. 

“I mean, we mostly just came to loiter,” Mike admits. “But the Iggy cover band that opened was alright.” 

“Danglers aren’t bad either,” Nile adds while lighting his cigarette. 

You can’t help but grin at him, much too earnest as you brim with unjustified validation. His eyes move from your face to where he’s cupping the tiny flame, then he takes a deep breath inward. 

On his exhale, you see his puckered lips twitch at the corners, the ghost of a smile mixing with smoke in the cold, night air. 

And, like that, it begins.


End file.
